


Rain

by johnnygossamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnygossamer/pseuds/johnnygossamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wants to be helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

It’s 3:53 am on another late Wednesday night, and Castiel’s coat sticks wet to his legs as he walks beside Dean in the mud on the side of an old Tennessee road.

Having just returned from what would be later known as The Night We Ganked A Dozen Violent Spirits, Dean was clearly exhausted as could be, his boots slushing up mud and dirt as he dragged along beside the angel. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the need for sleep, and shined from the way the light of the moon reflects through the incessant raindrops around him.

Castiel glances over at him. Every bone in Dean’s body seems to creak, invisible little gears grinding in protest; no, they say, we want to stop. He wishes that he could do something, that his heavenly powers could heal more than physical wounds, because he knows that the last person who deserves to walk home (or whatever makeshift motel they’ve made base at) in the rain is poor old Dean, who risks his life every day to kill things that ninety percent of the population doesn’t believe in.

Dean is the last man who deserves anything less than royalty, Castiel thinks.

The rain creates puddles in Castiel’s leather shoes, squeaking with every step he makes, but the sound is barely audible over the storm. The angel wishes he could do something to make Dean feel better right now, to make him comfortable and at ease. Castiel hates seeing those tense lines in his shoulders, horribly concealed beneath the thick leather of his jacket.

Castiel frowns and does his best.

When they reach the motel room Dean slips out a groan and lands face-first on the nearest bed. Castiel follows him inside, shedding the soaking wet overcoat hanging from his thin, wet frame. How he hates the rain.

“I’ll have Sammy go to the laundromat and dry all our—hey. Wait.” Dean sits up suddenly, patting himself all over, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not wet.”

“Yes. I warmed you up and kept the rain away, with my wings.” Castiel says, his eyes staring into Dean’s as usual. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Dean smiles in return, an honest, warm smile that probably hurts with how exhausted he is, but he doesn’t care. It makes Castiel feel weightless.

“Not at all. Thanks, Cas.”


End file.
